Red Shoes, Red Skirt, Red Lips
by SuperKateB
Summary: After work, their weekly routine proves that it takes two to tango.


"**Red Shoes, Red Skirt, Red Lips"  
****A Law & Order: Trial By Jury Fanfiction  
****Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler**

The dark, rhythmic beat of a tango – sharp, strong, decidedly lustful – poured through the crackling speakers at one end of the room as he pulled her closer to his body, their chests, stomachs, and hips pressing together as they shimmed across the dance floor, grace in bright red high-heels and shiny black dance shoes.

Her ruffled red skirt fluttered and whirled as he dipped her low, so low that her curls nearly brushed the ground. "How was your day, my sweet?" he teased, flashing her a charming smile.

She wrinkled her nose at him as he righted her, tightening her grip on his shoulder. "Five minutes here and you're already breaking rule number one," she scolded, though the slightest hint of a smirk did touch her lips, as bright red as her heels. He wrapped his arm further around her waist, pulling her hips into his. "We don't talk about work, remember?"

"My apologies," he replied languidly, his breath hot against her ear as the tempo sped up. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. "What shall we talk about instead of your horrible day at work?"

"I never said it was horrible." Her chestnut eyes glinted as they switched directions. "And who says we need to talk at all? We could just enjoy the dancing, for a change."

He arched an eyebrow and brought his lips to taste her earlobe, and she growled, deep in the back of her throat. "If we only get to spend one night a week together, I want to actually have a conversation with you," he hissed, causing her to shiver. "So, how was work?"

"Exhausting." She pressed her ear against the side of his cheek. "Horrible case, and Hector keeps coming up short. It's not his fault, but I'm annoyed at him anyway."

"Explains your…fire…tonight."

"Oh, shut up."

He laughed in her ear and they returned to proper form, gliding across the floor and past the other couple, and she smiled up at him, sharing a secretive glance that she was not entirely sure she personally understood.

The moment disappeared, however, when she caught the figure of a short blonde woman in the doorway to the dance studio, her hands thrust in the pockets of her fashionable spring coat. "Kelly," she sighed, breaking their contact as the word escaped her lips. He frowned and dropped her hand reluctantly, as though the gesture caused him personal pain. They wandered across the dance floor, his hands in the pockets of his suit pants.

Kelly Gaffney sent them an apologetic look, smiling ever-so-slightly. "Hector just called me," she informed her gently, averting her gaze to stare at the floor. "Another body was just found, same MO. Arthur wants both of us on the scene."

"Figures." She rolled her eyes and reached for her coat, tugging it off one of the empty chairs pushed up against the wall near the door. Her brown eyes flicked up at the tall man at her side, and she forced herself to wash away some of her anger and smile weakly. "I'll have to take a rain check, Mike."

Mike LaSalle frowned and allowed a slow exhale to escape through his nose, though she knew from experience that, for him, the gesture was at least the equivalent of a miserable sigh. "Second week in a row, Tracey," he reminded her bitterly, reaching to touch the small of her back with a hand.

"I know." ADA Tracey Kibre leaned into the gesture for a short moment. "Next week, I promise."

"You'd better make good on that, counselor, or I'll hold you in my own private version of contempt." A spark of mischief touched his voice, even despite the ever-present disappointment. "And you know what that means."

"Quite well. Goodnight, Mike."

"Goodnight, Tracey."

The door had barely closed behind them before she glanced darkly at the blonde at her side. "Don't even say it, Kelly," she growled, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

Blue eyes blinked, and Kelly smiled enigmatically. "Say what?" she questioned innocently. "That you two are cute together, or that I just won fifty dollars in my bet with Hector over where you'd be?"

"Either."

"Alright then," Kelly replied around a smirk that started that moment and continued for at least the next two hours and, as far as Tracey could tell, well into the next day.

**Fin.**

Disclaimer: TBJ belongs to NBC and Dick Wolf. I am not either of these things. I'm not even close.

Author's Note: In "41 Shots," there is obviously history between Tracey Kibre and Mike LaSalle (the defense attorney). We're talking history with a capital H. So I decided they needed to be more than enemies, and look. It worked.

April 9, 2005  
7:17 p.m.


End file.
